


Date Night

by Major



Category: The Mummy (1999)
Genre: Curses, F/M, Humor, Love, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Major/pseuds/Major
Summary: Rick and Evy have a bad habit of bringing the dead back to life. At this point, Rick calls near-death experiences date night.





	Date Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OzQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/gifts).



> Happy Halloween!

It was supposed to be a simple pick up for the museum.  A romantic getaway, Evy said.  An easy weekend with no work, she said.  Their footprints left deep impressions in the wet sand as they fled along the coastline and tried not to get carried out with the tide.  Rick threw his arms out for balance as he slipped and glanced back to make sure Evy was keeping up.   _Simple._  That was what other people did on vacation.  They, on the other hand, didn’t so much relax as try not to die horrible, horrible—he glanced back at the animated corpses charging them along the beach in various states of undress and decay— _horrible_ deaths.

“You couldn’t have warned me not to put the mask on?!” he shouted.

Evy’s skirt soaked through to the knees as she tripped forward and smacked her palms into the sand to catch herself.  “I couldn’t really have predicted that you’d jump out at me in some childish prank now, could I?”

He ran back and got her up with a pointed frown.  “Have you met me?”

What was it with curses?  Everything was cursed.  This was cursed, that was cursed.  It was too much.  When a guy couldn’t slap on an ancient mask thingy and pop out at his wife for a laugh, evil was micromanaging the lives of others.  Sure, it didn’t help that he was standing on a symbol of resurrection when he put it on or that he had a cut on his hand and one drop fed the damn thing.  But still.  It wasn’t like he wanted to raise the dead at the local morgue.  It was an accidental invocation of evil from a series of coincidences, bad fortune, and their ability to find trouble faster than Evy smacked him whenever he got lewd in public.  What she called brutish, he called romance.

The undead weren’t gnashing their teeth at them in hunger as they closed in, which made him feel more optimistic about not being eaten alive, but that might have just been because their jaws were wired shut.  Their growls sounded too starved for that to be terribly reassuring.

“Alright.  Up we go.”  Rick picked Evy up and threw her over his shoulder, turned and ran.  A soggy run on the beach would be a lot faster if he wasn’t worried about her skirt, soaked and weighing her down, feeding her to those things the next time she toppled over.

“Ohhhhhhhh!”  It was more of a moan than a word as Evy became the eyes in the back of his head.  “They’re getting closer!”

“Thank you.  Got that.  Hence, the running.”

“Very good, yes,” she encouraged from where she bobbed over his shoulder, “but I must recommend a, uh, faster speed, please.”

“I’m not a camel, Evelyn,” he reminded her as she started to slap at his backside in a panic.  He had reached max hurrying mode.  No amount of spanking was going to improve his ground coverage.

Her noises of distress turned into a scream.

“This is not going to work,” he grit out, the bare animalistic steps pounding in too close to escape.  Law of survival: what you couldn’t outrun, you did your damnedest to kill.  Or in this case, re-kill.

Rick set her down, twisted and moved in front of her, guns drawn.  The gunfire broke through the evening in explosive bangs that stalled and slowed the flailing undead but didn’t stop the assault from straining forward, still growling and scratching at the air.  He switched from useless headshots to the legs to knock them to the ground and slow them further as they crawled back to their feet.

“If I could just,” Evy was saying between bangs, “remember—” _Bang!_  “—the translation—”   _Bang!_  “—to return the dead to rest…”

He glanced over his shoulder at her as she screwed up her face in concentration.  “If I spanked you, would you think faster?”

Her eyes went wide and bright.  That big, happy smile appeared that gave his heart a kick in its ass every time she shot it at him.  He thanked every good and holy thing that he’d conned such a smart woman into marrying him.

“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed.

“Excellent!  You wanna get on with it then, or do you want to sit down to dinner with these guys first?  Small reminder that we’re what they’ll be sticking their forks in.”

“Oh!” Evy clutched his shoulders as he fired off the rest of his bullets into the crowd of pursuers and shouted the anti-curse around him in a long dead language that only ever seemed good for bringing gross and evil things to life.

One by one the bastards collapsed into lifeless heaps in the sand.  The growling died, and they were left panting and paranoid in front of the pile.  Rick kicked one with the toe of his boot to be sure.  Its arm flopped against the ground with no resistance.  The calm that followed was much, much better than the nearly dying part.

“So.”  Rick turned to her.  “Don’t put on really old… evil looking, creepy masks dug up in forgotten cities then?”

Evy took his arm and squeezed it, whether to keep herself upright or help prop him up as the adrenaline pooled out of their systems, he was just glad to have her hand—small, always offered, and blessedly uneaten—keeping him centered.

“Definitely not,” she agreed.

With a heavy sigh, he wrapped his arm around her and started back up the beach.  She dropped her head onto his shoulder and sagged into his side with an arm around his waist.  All things considered, he was pretty damn lucky for a cursed guy.


End file.
